


A Thousand Offences

by sumhowe_sailing



Series: Daisy is too good, too pure [2]
Category: David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content Implied, but nothing explicit, set during the First Dissipation chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 12:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumhowe_sailing/pseuds/sumhowe_sailing
Summary: Missing scene from that night David got roaring drunk and Steerforth helped him home.





	

_She had so far improved me, for the time, that though I was angry with her, I felt ashamed, and with a short 'Goori!' (which I intended for 'Good night!') got up and went away. They followed, and I stepped at once out of the box-door into my bedroom, where only Steerforth was with me, helping me to undress, and where I was by turns telling him that Agnes was my sister, and adjuring him to bring the corkscrew, that I might open another bottle of wine._

_How somebody, lying in my bed, lay saying and doing all this over again, at cross purposes, in a feverish dream all night - the bed a rocking sea that was never still! How, as that somebody slowly settled down into myself, did I begin to parch, and feel as if my outer covering of skin were a hard board; my tongue the bottom of an empty kettle, furred with long service, and burning up over a slow fire; the palms of my hands, hot plates of metal which no ice could cool!_

_But the agony of mind, the remorse, and shame I felt when I became conscious next day! My horror of having committed a thousand offences I had forgotten, and which nothing could ever expiate…_

 

~~~

When Copperfield stood and left the theater, Steerforth was glad for the excuse to leave. The show had been a poor one, with no passion and less talent, not worth the time it took to watch. Copperfield, on the other hand, was always a good source of entertainment. His friends followed them out as well, but Steerforth could see they were not keen on taking care of Copperfield in this state—so he bid them goodnight and they went on their way.

“Come, dear Daisy, let’s get you home.”

“Dear Steerforth! I’m—“ Steerforth could not make out what he said after that. It didn’t matter. He nodded and smiled and said agreeable things as he guided his Daisy gently but firmly back to his rooms. The moment they were in the door, the boy began calling for another bottle of wine.

“No, Daisy, I think we’ve had quite enough for one night,” Steerforth laughed.

“Nonsense,” he slurred back, “n’such thing. Come, let’s find another bottle.”

He lunged off towards a door, which Steerforth was quite certain was not the pantry. As he stepped up to take Daisy’s arm and tug him towards his bed, Steerforth shook his head affectionately. He was an incorrigible young thing, to be sure. That much Steerforth already knew, from certain heated nights in wild Yarmouth. He had tried, a little, not to corrupt the boy. But it had been too tempting—and too easy. He thought about those nights now, as David rambled about his sister Agnes and called for more wine. He seemed just as desperate for a corkscrew now as he had been for Steerforth’s touch then.

And now, like then, he must be denied. For his own good. Not that Steerforth had been able to keep his hands altogether to himself, but he had never let it go beyond a certain point, no matter how much his young innocence, as he so often thought of him, begged. As he helped David out of his coat, and then helped to peel off his other outer layers, he wondered if he would even remember this in the morning. Steerforth chuckled at the thought that this—the patient undressing, a thing he knew David had longed for—should happen under such circumstances that David might never know it had happened at all. Dear young Daisy. He was such an innocent. Steerforth loved that about him. Loved that Daisy never suspected the least ill in his motives or his speech—that he explained and justified everything to paint Steerforth in a golden glow. He loved how ready he was to think well of everyone and everything.

His train of thought was abruptly broken as David somehow tripped over himself and landed on his knees at Steerforth’s feet. Just like that, innocence was the furthest thing from his mind. He stared down at David, swaying and smiling and gazing up at him with worshipful eyes. How easy it was to imagine him on his knees for a very different reason indeed. Unconsciously he stretched out a hand to stroke his Daisy’s hair. The young man nuzzled against it, eyes closed, almost humming with contentment.

“James, oh James. You perfect, wonderful—James. I love you. I love you so very much.”

These words, even more than David’s vulnerable position, struck at Steerforth’s conscience. David’s easy, open, free, untainted love was a temptation he could never resist. It was such a rare thing to find someone who could worship you, who could look at you and see something better than you were. He swallowed hard and took a step back, dropping his hand to his side, trying to build a resolve not to take advantage.

Perhaps it would have been better if he had not moved. The moment his hand fell away from David’s hair, he began to pout. He looked up at Steerforth through his lashes—such long, lovely lashes—mouth twisted in disappointment. Then, he leaned forward unsteadily and crawled closer, muttering,

“Don’t go, James, don’t go. I love you too much to say g’night.” Sitting back on his heels again, only inches from Steerforth, he looked straight up at him and asked, “Stay with me, dear James? Won’t you stay?”

“Only til I see you in bed.” The ecstatic, expectant grin on David’s face showed him his error, and he hurried to correct himself, “Asleep, you understand.”

The pout was even more petulant and willful than before. Steerforth could not help it; he laughed at the expression and ruffled David’s hair.

“Perhaps—someday. Perhaps someday,” he muttered wistfully, as if to himself. “But not now. Not like this.”

Still, he could not tear himself away. David had reached out to steady himself and ended up caressing his thigh, and Steerforth truly wanted to stay. Steerforth’s hand had wandered back to David’s hair, and David was still looking up at him with those wide, trusting, beautiful eyes. That dear boy had no idea what Steerforth could do to him. It was a happy thought, all that innocence here at his disposal. Happier still, he was certain his Daisy would enjoy whatever he did—thank him for it, even. Was that it? Was that what really drew him to this young man? Was it the innocence he loved, or his ability to corrupt it?

But then Daisy’s eyes drifted shut and Steerforth was certain he was asleep there on his knees. He was not sure if his sigh now was more of relief or disappointment. He stooped down to drag the boy to his feet and haul him onto the bed. Worried about him, but unwilling to stay, Steerforth made sure to lay him on his side, so if he did vomit it would end up on the floor. Then, impulsively, he brushed David’s hair from his forehead and bent low to kiss it gently before he left.


End file.
